


Natural Born Cat

by Thatkindoffangirl



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: F/F, also ocelot is a dick 5ever, implied eva/boss, implied strangelove/boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindoffangirl/pseuds/Thatkindoffangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the event of Peace Walker, Ocelot sets Eva up for an informant job. When she goes to the appointment, however, the person she finds is not quite the one she was expecting to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Born Cat

The air was dense with smoke, voices, and the clink of glasses being laid on wooden tables. A young man—brown hair, matching tie, expensive watch at his wrist—smiled at her from afar, not daring to come closer. Another one, a bit on the older side, prepared his move. His eyes narrowed subtly as he worked the pick up phrase, checking his hair (what was left of it) in the mirror behind the counter. Eva groaned, sinking further in her chair. Her contact was late. _Ocelot’s contact_ , she reminded herself. Maybe this was nothing but his idea of a joke. She wouldn’t put it past him.

It had all gone to hell after the pregnancy. Zero’s reaction had been barely surprising; fuck old men and their XIX-century mentality. “You are a mother,” he’d told her every time she complained about the lack of action. “The clones are your mission now”. Eva shrugged in her seat. Zero didn’t seem to be too right in his head, anyway. He was even harder to reach lately, shutting himself in his office for longer and longer periods of time. Even war veterans couldn’t escape senility, or so it seemed. It was annoying. Yet it didn’t piss her off nearly as much as Ocelot did.

When he was twenty, he’d been funny to pick on. The little school-girl crush, the teasing, the denial… it was cute, almost heartwarming. It reminded her of everything she’d had to leave behind to become a spy. But it had grown old fast. As the years had passed, his obsession had become more and more of an annoyance, and after _he_ had left, it had become borderline dreadful.

The pregnancy had just been the nail on the coffin.

He was jealous, that much was clear. A grown up man, jealous because she had gotten to carry his crush’s children. He seemed to enjoy keeping her in the rear lines, knowing how much she hated them. It was clearly a punishment, and it was working. He’d even gotten her to beg for a mission, then offered her nothing but a crappy informant job, like she was some sort of rookie. He’d even joked about it: “I can go meet them myself if you prefer to stay here and play the _mommy_ ,” he’d said, the widest shit-eating grin on his face. Her only satisfaction was elbowing him in the stomach so hard he’d had to lean on the desk to keep upright.

_I sure enjoy the small things in life_ , Eva thought, ogling the martini glas on her table, courtesy of one of her admirers for the night. That was another thing she would have loved to enjoy, and yet—

“ _I hear Zanzibar is a great place to raise children these days_ ,” a female voice said.

Eva sprung back to attention, her sulking frown morphing in to her trademark flirtatious smile. The sound of the password was a balm for her ears. Her muscles tensed imperceptibly. She was ready to play with her prey, after all these years, again a cat with her mouse. Yet, her elation died as fast as it had come. Something was off.

The informant had dressed herself impeccably, that much was true, but still she managed to look strikingly out of place. First, her austere posture made her stick out like an almost-literal nail in the relaxed, early-evening atmosphere of the bar. Second, the huge coat hanging down her arm was a little more than impractical in the summer heat. Third, she was clutching her handbag so tightly that her knuckles shone white with nervousness. And last, but surely not least, her hair was so white that everyone couldn’t help but stare at it in curiosity. She was supposed to blend in with the environment and had failed at achieving an even barely-passing grade. CIA agents were sometimes horrible at their jobs—Eva knew that a;; too well—but they were rarely this horrible.

“ _No wonder tourism is at its peak_ ,” Eva said back, her eyes scouting for a reaction. There was none. With barely more than a understanding nod, the woman took the seat in front of her, hanging her coat on the back of the tall chair as she crossed her legs under the table.

Eva’s smile widened. The woman obviously knew the right password, yet didn’t seem to mind that the answer Eva had given was completely wrong. When she’d squeezed the code out of the actual informant, she’d obviously forgotten about the second part.

“Eva, I presume,” the woman said, resting her hands on the table.

Without answering, Eva lifted her drink, winking to the waiter for another glass. She had to take this slow. No matter how much of a civilian the woman clearly was, she still knew the password, the meeting place, and now her name. She might have been inexperienced, but she was undoubtedly smart. This job had suddenly gotten a lot more interesting.

“I must have missed your name,” Eva said. She leaped forward, taking the woman’s hand in her own. The woman winced. She bit her lips, staring at Eva interdicted.

Eva didn’t move. The woman didn’t seem used to being prey. When the waiter came to hand out the drinks, Eva was the only one to bow slightly in acknowledgement.  

“I’m—” the woman said, stopping in her tracks as Eva’s thumb brushed gently against her wrist, tracing her palm all the way down to her fingers. Her wrists were tiny, her hands smooth and gentle. No callouses. Not a soldier for sure, maybe more the desk type. She opened her mouth then closed it again. It was obvious that even she knew that giving out her name was not the best move, but if she’d thought of another one she was now too nervous to remember. The pinkish shade on her cheeks made it way too clear to Eva that her seduction techniques had all but gotten rusty with inactivity. It was almost flattering.

“Strangelove,” the woman said eventually, her body relaxing in defeat.

Eva was almost sure that it was her real name.

“So did you bring the tape, Strangelove?” she asked.

Strangelove shrunk in her spot again. It was obvious the night was not going as she had planned. For one, there was no tape. She must have been thinking that her info—wherever she had gotten that—was wrong.

“I have it in my bag,” she said eventually, way too resoluted. “But—” she hesitated a split second “—I don’t want to give it to you here, there are too many people. We need to go somewhere safe.”

“Oh, there is time for that,” Eva said. Under the table, she moved her foot forward, gently brushing it up against the woman’s calves. “We should get to know each other better first, make some conversation.” Winking, she pushed forward the woman’s glass. “Have a drink.”

“I don’t drink—”

“Oh, come on.” Eva said, leaning in closer to her face. Her voice turned to a whisper. “Two women all alone in a bar without drinking? People will get suspicious.”

It was only as Eva took up her own drink that Strangelove followed suit, throwing a concerned look at it before taking an uncertain sip.

“Aren’t you drinking yours?” she asked, placing the glass on the table.

Eva smiled, still holding the stem between her fingers. “Don’t be silly,” she said. She leaned forward on the table to put her lips right next to Strangelove’s ear. The flowery smell of the woman’s perfume filled her nose as she spoke again, her voice barely a whisper:

“You should never drink something offered to you during an undercover operation,” she said. “People have a tendency to drug them.”

Strangelove barely had time to process her words before her chin fell limp in Eva’s ready grasp.

 

\---------------

 

“Your head will hurt for a while,” Eva said as Strangelove blinked awake, squinting her eyes to adjusted them to the light.

The hotel room was bright, the luxurious chandelier casting its bright glow on the wooden furniture, finely carved with intricate floral motifs. On the coffee table, an ice bucket held an expensive bottle of champagne—some of which Eva had poured in the glass now swirling in her hand—at the ideal temperature. Behind the bed, the headboard was encased between two tall and thin columns that Eva had used to handcuff Strangelove’s wrists to when she’d lain her barely conscious body upright on the silk-wrapped goose-down pillows. It was the most glamorous room the Patriot’s money could buy, Eva’s gift to herself for putting up with their nonsense.

It was truly a waste that Strangelove didn’t seem to appreciate it as much. Her head was still bobbing in confusion as she moved her sore arms only to find them tightly bound. She cursed. Then, as if shocked at her undignified expression of frustration, she suddenly composed herself, her lips curling in a dignified grimace as she held her chin up as a show of pride.

“I guess you want to know why," she said.

“‘Why' can wait." Eva smiled, leaning toward the bedside table to lay down her glass, but not before taking one last sip with a humming noise of appreciation. "I want to know how.”

Strangelove blinked. "How?"

“Yes,” Eva said, cupping Strangelove’s cheek as she moved back to straddle her waist. Their faces were close, lips almost touching. “ _How_ —” Strangelove was looking straight at her, her neck rigid as though any movement would make her fall deeper into Eva’s snare, “—did someone obviously little more than a civilian pass herself off as a CIA agent."

The woman hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of every possible move as Eva waited patiently, staring straight into her eyes, their clear, light blue color shining brightly under the light. Eva’s smile faltered. Blue eyes always reminded her of— she straightened her gape back into a smirk, just as Strangelove moved her wrists again, checking for any opening. Her eyes turned sad for a moment before she lifted her chin up again, finally answering.  

"I have _contacts_ ,” she said. “In the CIA.”

“You arranged the whole thing?”

“No,” Strangelove said. “I couldn’t have. My contacts don't have that kind of clearance, not without arousing suspicion.” She shrugged. “But they know people, who know people… It was easy enough to know that someone was scheduled to meet Ocelot. He always kept various contacts within the CIA, even after dropping out."

Eva giggled. "He’s that kind of friend."

"The contact was a scam, a rookie trying to strike a deal using fake information. We were very surprised when Ocelot accepted.”

Eva’s smile faltered again. Her lips quivered with irritation. There was no way Ocelot would have fallen for that. He had clearly set her up, and was probably laughing his ass off at this point imagining her stuck with a clearly useless informant.

“I ambushed the guy,” Strangelove continued. “Got a couple of electric wands off the black market. Tortured the password out of him.”

Eva blinked, her mind back to the present. “And you didn’t think of doing the same with me? That’s kind.”

“I’m not a savage,” Strangelove said, offended. “I don’t like hurting women.” She straightened her posture in a scornful display of pride, surprisingly successful for a woman whose arms were forcibly spread open. “Men are a different matter. Most of them deserve it anyway, and those who don’t are nothing more than collateral damage.”

Eva snorted, Ocelot’s face still etched in the back of her mind.  

“Fair enough,” she said. “So you did all this to meet Ocelot? I really can’t see why. He’s a rather unpleasant person to be around. Go to a kindergarden if you want to see a spoiled brat. You’ll find plenty more worthy of your time.”

She smiled, waiting for Strangelove to follow. The woman, however, didn’t. Her expression was suddenly grave. She was still looking Eva in the eye, yet her gaze seemed distant, sad. Her lips were quivering, almost imperceptibly.

“I wanted to ask him about the Boss,” she said eventually.

Eva froze.

“The Boss?” she asked.

Strangelove didn't answer. She didn’t seem to want to repeat herself, didn't even nod in acknowledgment. For a while neither of them spoke. Then Strangelove broke the silence so suddenly it made Eva flinched in surprise.

“I didn’t need Ocelot in particular, but he seemed to be the lowest hanging fruit, so to speak.” She talked very fast, as if she had rehearsed her speech. “When I heard that you were going to be there in his place, that was even better. I had read all about you in the debriefing files for Operation Snake Eater, but I’d never hoped to be able to find you. You seemed to be hurdled somewhere, out of our reach. If nothing else, I had hoped Ocelot could lead me there.” There was a pause again. When Strangelove continued, her voice was even graver than before. "Beside him, you were the last person to speak to her alive.”

Eva’s mouth hung open in surprise. “Why would you want to know about the Boss?”

“She was my lover.”

“I thought she was married to—”

“That was before,” Strangelove stopped her abruptly. “We met later. Our time together was brief, but significant. We were everything to each other. Two people, living as one.”

Eva barely noticed that she’d risen from the bed to pace the room nervously. The Boss had never told her about this. Why would she have? Sure, Eva _had_ had a small, childish crush on her, but that was barely grounds for that kind of confessions. Still, after all these years, that knowledge made something stir in the pit of her stomach. Was she jealous? How stupid. She’d been mocking Ocelot for his childish obsessions and now— she didn't have time for this.

“Why wait?” she asked. “It’s been almost 10 years.”

“Things have changed,” Strangelove said.  “I have been tasked with her resurrection.”

“Resurrection?”

“In a sense.” Strangelove shrugged. “I’m a scientist. I’m building an AI with her personality. A weapon of sorts.”

Eva stopped in her tracks. Her body tensed. “A weapon?” she asked. “She would never approve of _that_.”

“You don’t know her like I do.”

“I know her enough,” Eva said. Her voice was more high-pitched than she wanted it to be, and yet she didn’t bother to contain her anger. “So do you.”

Strangelove sighed. Her gaze darkened, and she lowered her eyes. “I need to do this,” she said. “I just— I want to know what she was thinking, I want to know the truth. I want to know that she was not a traitor. She had changed—I have seen her change, with my very eyes—but she was not a traitor. She could have never—”

“You won’t get this information from me,” Eva stopped her. Her voice—so cold it had frozen everything around them—scared even herself. Her heart was ice. She was starting to emphasize. She didn’t like it. She never did. The feelings she had locked inside for years crawled back up through her body, reminding her of a pain she had fought to forget.

“Please,” Strangelove said. Her voice was broken. “I never told her goodbye.”

Eva flinched. The blue eyes were looking into hers again. She had seen those same eyes before, broken with sadness, looking for that same answer that Eva, and only Eva, held inside her. That time, she had made a choice, and that choice had been haunting her ever since. This time, however, it was not the same. The answer had been passed on; it was not only hers to give or withhold anymore.

"It's not my call to make," she said, rummaging through the nearby desk for a pen and stationery. "There’s another person. I’ve told him everything you need to know."

" _Him_?” Strangelove said. “Of course I thought about him. He's nowhere to be found."

"There," Eva said, shoving the piece of scribbled paper in front of Strangelove’s eyes as she moved to straddle her waist once again. The woman looked at the writing, her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Coordinates?" she asked.

"His base."

" _How_...?"

"Oh,” Eva shrugged, tucking the paper safely in Strangelove’s breast pocket. “You know how obsessive children in love are. They would never be able to live without knowing everything about their prince's whereabout. Give them enough CIA connections and there is just nowhere you can go to shake them off your tail."

She smiled as she said that, and after a while, Strangelove followed suit.

As the shocked gape left place for a grateful smile—the most gentle, heartfelt smile Eva had ever seen—Eva’s cheeks suddenly flushed red.

"I suppose I should thank you," Strangelove said, waking Eva from her stupor.

"Maybe I should," Eva said. She leaned forward, key in hand, and opened Strangelove’s handcuffs. "I hadn't had this much fun in a while."

Strangelove’s smile widened. She rubbed her wrists with her hands, trying to get the blood to flow again.

As Eva moved away to let the woman rise to her feet again, she found her own wrist suddenly blocked with Strangelove’s fingers. Rapidly, her body tensed, ready to attack. But when she looked up, Strangelove was doing nothing but smirking at her, her lips suddenly inches from Eva’s.

"So,” she said, “what about _other_ kinds of fun?"

Eva smiled. She dragged Strangelove into a kiss, her fingers tangled in her hair as the other pried her lips open to slide her tongue in. Before Eva could move to do it herself, the woman grabbed her by the waist, flipping her on the bed as her mouth moved down her neck, leaving a trail of kisses all over her nape. Following the strap of her bra down to her neckline, she brushed her shirt aside with her nose as her hands moved inside it, running along her spine before undoing her bra and moving to caress her back again. Eva moaned. Then suddenly, she chuckled.

She might not have been used to play the mouse, yet it was obvious that Strangelove was nothing short of a natural born cat.


End file.
